My head is spinning; don’t know if it’s lack of sleep

Or from having my cup half-full of tensions and stress

Ideas I can’t speak, for it’s hanging on my tongue’s tip

Not trusting my decisions, instincts the more or the less.

I need help. From too much of life that has to offer—to me

I need help. From anyone who knows how to heal

Things that have been broken all accidentally

There’s just too much, and so much I have to feel

Is there a chance for me to choose my direction?

Or is there a chance for me to recover?

Because the little of all things got my attention

And the stupid things can’t recoil, not ever